


don't hope to ever find me, i fear i'm far too gone

by orphan_account



Category: Everyman HYBRID
Genre: Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Gen, Suicide, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 09:55:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17578667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The aftermath of the destruction.





	don't hope to ever find me, i fear i'm far too gone

**Author's Note:**

> anotha one i'm dumping here from tumblr lads  
> it's violent and sad and has to do with uh what happened w steph and jeff and th baby  
> i wrote it while in a rage in one 30 minute session i don't really remember so that's neat  
> anyway enjoy the suffering!

You wonder when the grief will hit. The guilt. The rage. Right now you just feel numb. You’re staring at the wall and have to remind yourself to blink, to breathe. You wish you could just stop doing both of those things. Anything in general.

 

You know it’ll be brutal when it hits. The numbness is a protective barrier. Shock is a helluva drug, after all. The smell of burning flesh still radiates and the taste of skin and bones and blood burns your tongue. Yet you feel nothing. Absolutely nothing.

 

When he takes control, you have no power. You can’t even see what he does. You can only remember it in horror once he’s nice enough to give control of your body back. If you can call it nice at this point. Right now you sort of wish you could take the back seat again. At the same time, you never want to lose control like that again. This thing that controls you and uses your body for such violence terrifies you to no end.

 

The stupid slenderman that haunts you can’t even come close to this. You’d take him over the most likely demonic entity with its hooks in your brain any day of the week.

 

You can hear the screaming in your head. The begging. The pleading. The sobbing. Nothing about it feels real yet it’s also now the most vivid memory you have and probably will ever have. You can see in their eyes the terror, the pain, the confusion. Can feel their skin splitting open under your hands. Their bones breaking. It all plays on an endless loop in your head like some messed up slasher film.

 

Every part of you wishes to simply disintegrate into dust. You don’t want to exist. Actually, you’re pretty sure you don’t exist anymore. Dragging your eyes away from the wall and down to the hands that committed such atrocities, they don’t feel quite all there. It’s as if you could press them up against the staircase you’re leaning on and they’d slide right through it.

 

Of course, when you test this theory, you’re met with solid hardwood. They exist. You exist. Somehow this revelation is what causes you to finally break out of the shock.

 

A loud, desperate sob leaves your body. The floodgates open. Screams tear through you and you leap to your feet, ready to rip apart everything. If it’s in your line of sight, it’s fair game. You’ve got tunnel vision and you’re seeing red. You don’t even know what you’re chucking at walls and breaking. Could be important, but god, you don’t care. If your throat is starting to hurt from how much you’re screaming, you don’t notice.  _You don’t care_. Any pain you feel is minimal compared to what you put them through.

 

The three people you loved most in the world are gone. By your own doing, no less. You’re not entirely sure how to carry on with that weighing on you.

 

You can hear Vinny’s voice now, assuring you that it’s not your fault. It wasn’t you. It was that thing. That creature. That monster. You know better, though. If you were stronger, fought harder, did literally anything differently, he may not have been able to take control of your body.

 

He used you for this and you can’t ever take that back. You start to violently retch onto the floor. Most of what comes out is blood and chunks of things you’d rather not think about. There’s so much blood. You hope it’s yours and it’s enough to kill you.

 

That’d be too easy, though, wouldn’t it? A sinking feeling in your gut says yes. You still want to try. You’re not sure it’ll work, but you’re going to try. If you’re dead, he can’t use your body. He can’t make you do things even your fucked up imagination couldn’t dream up.

 

The worst part about all this is that you can remember how giddy he felt while he was making your loves suffer. You remember the laughter, the sheer joy radiating through him as he tore at them. You throw up some more chunks of what are most likely parts of your baby, but again, best not to think about that.

 

You’re going to kill yourself and it’s going to work, dammit. That’s what you keep telling yourself. If you keep telling yourself over and over again that you’ll succeed, maybe it’ll be true. Maybe this will be over. Maybe you’ll never have to horrendously torture and murder someone you love again.

 

There’s that voice in the back of your head, though. That voice that whispers that it’s useless to attempt. He won’t let you go that easily. You try to tell it to shut up, mutter out loud to yourself through your tears. Your throat is raw and you think that’s probably where some of the blood in your vomit came from.

 

You’ll try. You have to try. If you don’t even try, that’s letting him win without a fight. You can’t do that. You won’t do that. Not after what he’s made you do.

 

You stare at your trembling hands and you want to cut them off. It’s the last thing you think about before you pass out and fall to the ground with a loud thud.


End file.
